Fraud on the Court

by Mike Chalek

“I don’t see why not. I guess we could run out this weekend if you’ve got the time.”

  I had the time. We planned a trip for the coming Saturday.

  The car ride to Sopchoppy was a pleasant one. Rita was good company, and as we traveled she filled me in on little bits of local lore. She told me more about her father, and for once I didn’t feel the need to talk about my own life, or the details of the case, or of anything in particular. The miles passed quickly and we soon pulled up to the old southern house that was Rita’s childhood home.

  They were in the process of renovating the living/dining room that used to be the roller rink. It was vast and empty of furniture, and we walked around the perimeter of the room, reading out names and dates and strange sayings that children had carved into the walls. I was the one who found it first, the name “Boots” clearly carved in an awkward hand, along with the names of some of her sisters. I called Rita over, and together we shook our heads.

  How odd, I thought. How very, very odd.

  I imagined that the name must have been carved there about the time that she was first getting married. A thirteen-year-old child, carving her name into the roller rink wall, about to marry a man who would violently abuse her and change her life forever. I didn’t forgive her in that moment, but for a second, I pitied her.

  Rita and I returned quietly to Tallahassee. I thanked her for taking me, and we agreed that it was about time to bring my whole sordid past to a close. The court date was only a few days away.

  * * * * * *

  On December 13, 1999 the county courthouse was abuzz with a room full of reporters and photographers. Judge Maurice V Giunta took one look at the assembled crowd and announced,

  “I will NOT have the dignity of this court compromised any further by turning this into a media circus. We will move this hearing to my chambers, now.”

  I objected immediately, earning a stern look from my lawyer.

  “I think that such a move is in violation of my civic rights, your honor,” I said. “I would like to have the press witness these proceedings.”

  The judge ignored the impropriety of my address, and said, “One member of the press may accompany us. Who will it be?”

  A reporter named Ron Word, whom I had come to know rather well over the past few months, stood up and said that he would be glad to represent the interests of the press.

  Together, Mallory Horne, Ron Word, the attorney for the state, and Josette Marquess (my only witness) accompanied me to the judge’s chambers.

  There, we gathered around a large rectangular table. The judge seated himself at the head.

  “Mallory,” he said, “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Thank you Maurice,” Mallory replied.

  Maurice? I thought. Great, they’re friends. He knows everyone, doesn’t he? From Tallahassee to Gainesville and everywhere in between.

  Despite the small gathering, Mallory stood up and made an opening statement worthy of any televised courtroom drama. He spelled out the events of my life in moving detail, and gave a thorough explanation of the legal basis of our petition.

  When he was done, even I was slightly speechless at the power this man could wield over a court.

  “And now,” he said, “I think my client would like to say a few things on his behalf.”

  He gestured to me.

  But before I could open my mouth, Judge Giunta interrupted.

  “I’m sure he has plenty of things to say,” he said. “But the court has no need to hear them.”

  I gaped in shock, but before I could make a scene, the judge turned to Josette.

  “Mrs. Marquess, what is your department’s position on the matter of this petition?” he asked.

  Josette answered briefly that she and her department were in support of my request to annul the adoption and restore my birth mother as my legal parent.

  “Let me ask you, if you knew the things that have been brought to light about the adoptive parents and their histories, and about the birth mother’s conflicting desires, would your department still have recommended that this adoption go through?”

  I think the question surprised Jo, but after a moment she answered thoughtfully, “No, your honor, we would not be able to recommend this adoption with the facts as they sit before us today.”

  “That’s all I need to hear,” the judge said.

  He turned to me. I was still fuming slightly at being shut down as a participant in my own case, so I spoke out before he could even begin.

  “I’d like to know why all of these facts weren’t known to the department back at the time of my adoption. The caseworkers could have requested the documents, same as I did.” I said

  The judge frowned at me.

  “I’m not here to answer for why the state did or did not do any particular thing at the time of your adoption. This court has suffered enough damage from this case.”

  Mallory leaned over to me and whispered, “Mike, stop talking. Don’t you get it? We just won.”

  The judge continued, “Mr. Chalek, I am prepared to properly consider granting your petition. Tell me, what exactly is it that you want?”

  Despite the rather abrupt turn of events, I took a deep breath and answered steadily, “I want those people out of my life. Permanently. I want them erased from my birth certificate, and the adoption completely overturned. And I would like the new certificate to show my mother’s correct and true name.”

  The judge asked if Mallory could hand me a piece of blank paper. Mallory quickly obliged.

  “Mr. Chalek,” Judge Giunta said. “Please write on this page the details of your new birth certificate, exactly as you would like them to appear.”

  I grabbed the paper and began writing; eventually I had to turn the paper sideways to fit everything in. Behind me, I could hear Ron Word also scribbling out furious notes.

  When I handed the paper back to the judge, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Am I to understand that after all of this, you would like to retain your last name, the name Chalek?” he asked incredulously.

  “Your honor, as much as I despise the parents that raised me, and any mention of their names, I cannot sacrifice on the altar of their misdeeds the name I have made for myself as an industry-recognized professional. I have made, and sometimes lost, several fortunes, been interviewed on national news for my professional achievements, and registered copyrights in my name to the software I have designed. I’ll bear the last name of Chalek, but I request that any other tie between myself and them be severed forever.”

  It was a good speech, and the judge accepted my explanation.

  He indicated that he would take a couple of weeks to consider the matter and issue his final decision.

  After the judge dismissed us all from his chambers, I shook hands with Josette and thanked her profusely for her help. Ron Word stopped me to make sure he had the most recent contact information if he needed to ask me clarifying questions, and I told him I looked forward to seeing his article in the paper the next day.

  Mallory explained to me that the judge’s final instructions that we would hear his official ruling within a few weeks were just a formality.

  “I know Maurice well,” he said. “He’s going to grant your petition. How’s it feel to be the only person anyone’s ever heard of to have three separate birth certificates issued for your birth?”

  I pondered the possibility of my new world record as we walked through the halls of the now-familiar courthouse.

  Then Mallory and I exited the building, together. Once outside, my old friend began laughing as if we’d just been told the most wonderful joke.

  He said. “Mike, you dealt that court one hell of a sucker punch.”

  “I did not,” I said, offended at the implication.

  He looked at me piercingly and replied, “Yes, yes you did. And let me tell you why.”

  I waited, still annoyed but curious nonetheless.

  “When you went into that court and
talked to Judge Cates, he asked you why you wanted to unseal your records, what your motivations were. Do you remember what you told him?”

  “That I just wanted to find my birth mother,” I said.

  “That’s right. He let you have those records because you were supposed to go find your mom and then disappear and leave the system alone.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I have a feeling that Judge Giunta is going to track down Robert Cates and give him a swift kick in the behind,” Mallory said as he wound himself up to another good chortle.

  He slapped me on the shoulder and said, “Let’s head home and celebrate.”

  We got into the rental car, and lit up the cigars that Mallory had brought along in expectation.

  “You knew this would happen,” I accused him as we drove back home.

  He just smiled and smoked as we settled in for the long drive ahead.

  * * * * * *

  On January 02, 2000 I received an email from Mallory with the subject line: My dear friend! I am happy to start your new century by advising that your long and lonely quest for IDENTITY AND JUSTICE IS OVER.

  He followed it up by saying, In every respect, we won a marvelous victory. You were granted everything you sought. At 9:30 on 1/3/2000 you will receive via fax a copy, with the ORIGINAL order following by mail.

  Here is the text of the entire judgement.

  IN RE: THE ADOPTION OF MICHAEL EDWARD CHALEK

  CASE NO: 6815-C

  ORDER GRANTING PETITION FOR ANNULMENT OF ADOPTION AND AMENDMENT OF CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH

  THIS CAUSE came before the Court on December 13, 1999, upon the “Petition for Annulment of Adoption and Termination of Parental Rights and for Amendment of Certificate of Live Birth” filed by Michael Edward Chalek, adoptee, on June 7, 1999. The petitioner and his counself were present. Josette P Marquess also appeared in her capacity as representative of the Florida Department of Children and Families Adoption Registry. The Court, having reviewed the petition and evidence presented, and having heard testimony of the petitioner and Josette P Marquess, and argument of counsel, finds that an annulment of the adoption of Michael Edward Chalek and the amendment of his certificate of live birth is necessary. However, since both adoptive parents are deceased, the issue of termination of parental rights is moot.

  The Court does not make this finding carelessly. The public policy of this State is to protect and respect the privacy of those who so generously decide, for whatever reason, to give to a child the gift of the opportunity to achieve what life has to offer with adoptive parents, and give to the adoptive parents the gift of providing those opportunities to the child. Unfortunately, in the instant case, the adoptive parents abused this privilege and instead caused profound harm to the adoptee. Moreover, but for the adoptive parents’ misrepresentation and fraud upon the Court, the Department of Children and Families and/or Judge John A. H. Murphree, who presided over the adoption, would have denied their petition for adoption.

  Therefore, the petition for annulment is granted and the Court must provide petitioner with a lawful identity. Petitioner, born during a legitimate marriage, is a child of the marriage under Florida law. At his birth, his biological mother, under duress imposed upon her by the adoption broker, recorded the birth using a fictitious name. Petitioner requests that the certificate be amended to reflect the legal name of the petitioner’s biological mother and lawful father at the time of his birth. The Court grants this request and directs that the petitioner’s Certificate of Live Birth be amended to reflect the true identity of the biological mother, Winnie Faye Higginbotham Yarber and the lawful father, Thomas Yarber, and further amended to record the child’s name as Michael Edward Higginbotham Yarber. However, petitioner asks that his name, Michael Edward Chalek, remain as such since he is known professionally by that name. The Court grants the request and his name shall appear on the Certificate of Live Birth as Michael Edward Chalek. This Court reserves jurisdiction over the subject matter of this case.

  ORDERED on this 22nd day of December, 1999.

  Epilogue

  No human stories ever really end. They just keep switching chapters, and at some point we close one volume and decide to start another.

  In this volume of my life there were a few more loose ends that I needed to tie up, or that the universe thought I should tie up, before I was free to move on. One of those was the matter of Carol Jean.

  I did what I had sworn to do, and sought out every possible lead in trying to determine what had happened to my little sister. I found distant cousins of hers, called people who had lived in her California neighborhood, and even tracked down her father where he resides in Sweden. He angrily denied having any knowledge of what became of his daughter. I called up Josette Marquess and asked if she had reason to believe that an adoption petition had ever been filed in Florida for Carol Jean Wagner. No such petition existed.

  With great sadness, I decided there was nothing more I could do within my limited resources and considering the vast amount of time that had passed since her disappearance.

  I also attempted to obtain genetic proof of my relationship to John Kirchaine, my alleged birth father. John had passed away in the 70s, but he had a brother who was still living. I also talked to a cousin on my father’s side who, in another outrageous turn of fate, turned out to be my double cousin. Her father had been another of John’s brothers, and her mother was one of Winnie Faye’s sisters. When she realized this and explained it to me, I simply shook my head and whispered “very funny,” just in case God was listening.

  This cousin graciously met me in the Denver airport one day when she was passing through, just so she could give me a few pictures of my father. I never had any DNA evidence to prove or disprove the relationship, but the resemblance between John’s pictures and my own are indicative that my mother’s claims were probably true.

  Speaking of Winnie Faye, she passed away a few years after the court ruling, having been ravaged by the effects of age and end-stage multiple sclerosis. With her passing, I lost all contact with my biological family. I was not even informed of her death until a family friend took pity and called to let me know. He also informed me that my brother Robert and his wife had taken the inheritance and built a large new house elsewhere.

  At one point I tried contacting my older brother, Kenneth just to tell him who I was and see if he wanted to meet.

  He told me, “I’ve washed my hands of Winnie Faye, and I have no interest in ever meeting you.”

  I received a better reception within the vast adoption community than I received at any time from either of my two families. As a matter of fact, I received a phone call of congratulations from the big man himself—Steve Jobs. He’s perhaps the most powerful and famous individual who has ever been involved in a birth mother search, and after we chatted for a moment he asked, in all seriousness, if I might have any advice for him in his own efforts. All I could say was, “Keep trying.”

  Eventually, though, I was able to help at least one other adoptee gain closure on the question of his origins. At the end of my journey, the story of Rebecca Cobb came full circle. The infant son that Ms. Cobb surrendered for adoption at the time of her lawsuit against Lenora Fielding was now a grown man, searching for his mother. Somehow he had acquired her name but nothing more. He pestered Josette’s office in Tallahassee until she took pity and told him that she couldn’t personally give him any information, but he might be interested in looking up another adoptee from Jacksonville, a rather famous one whose recent lawsuit had made national headlines.

  So the son of Rebecca Cobb and I met up one day, in an airport. I knew from my old investigations into the Fielding operation that Rebecca Cobb had passed away. I had copies of the newspaper articles, the lawsuit and the information from her obituary, which I gave to him. We shook hands, he thanked me, and he disappeared back onto his connecting flight. I can only hope he found some peace along the way.

  So here I am, at the end of
it all, still an unmoored ship in the sea of humanity. My parents are dead, my siblings have lost interest in any ongoing relationship, and my children are now grown and living their own lives. Many might wonder and ask, “What was the point?”

  The point, I would say, is that I now possess the peace of mind that comes with knowing what every non-adopted person takes for granted. I know my identity, my biological history, and the story of my birth. It is my story. No one ever had the right to take it away from me, just because in that moment of relinquishment I was small and helpless and of considerable monetary value on the open market.

  I find satisfaction these days in my work, and in trying to bring hope and encouragement to the ongoing fight for open adoption records in all fifty states. Until enough stories have been told, and enough voices have been heard, it is a quest that will not reach its completion.

  My time is also filled with whatever good works I see at hand in the moment. I am an active member of Rotary International, a humanitarian organization whose motto is “Service above Self.” It is partly through the Rotary that I located my old teacher, Elle Berger, who was responsible for making such a positive difference in the course of my life.

  Along with the many volunteer opportunities that Rotary provides me on a regular basis, I felt compelled to make an even larger effort to bring relief to the children of Haiti who were left destitute by the earthquake in 2010. I joined a team and volunteered to take thousands of pounds of supplies that we gathered through joint work with HELP International, another group with whom I frequently partner. Delivering those goods, and seeing the children and their families respond to the hope that the supplies represented, I knew that I would never be whole without the meaning that such acts of service bring into my life.

  What does volunteerism do for me?